Drunk Man's Saviour
by st4rrysky
Summary: Dean Winchester gets drunk and accidentally throws up on Derek Hale. Derek helps Dean home to his loft. In the morning, secrets are revealed.


**A/N: Hey! I'm justanotherwhitegirl and this is my first fanfiction EVER. I would really appreciate any feedback and comments as I would love to make my writing better. :P**

 **Also, I am from New Zealand, so I mostly use British spelling.**

 **This story is my interpretation of a prompt: Character A gets drunk and accidentally throws up/collapses on B (bonus points if that's how they meet).**

 **Pairings: Derek x Dean**

 **Word Count: 2239**

 **Timeline: It's set around Teen Wolf season 3b and It could pretty much be set around anywhere from Supernatural season 2 - 8 (I think?).**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

Derek Hale generally didn't enjoy social situations so it was incredibly unusual for him to be found sitting at a bar in a seedy neighbourhood of Beacon Hills. But his loft was too empty and loneliness had crept into his heart making it squeeze uncomfortably until he couldn't bear to be surrounded by quiet nothing. Only, sitting alone at a bar that was less than clean, was proving to be not much of an improvement. Behind him, people danced, bodies sliding against each other in fluid movements in time to the loud music. To the sides, people sat in groups and conversed, glasses half full, mouths open in laughter, a sound that Derek couldn't hear over the music pounding into his skull. A steady hammering that Derek identified as a headache.

As far as Derek could see, the only other person alone was a young man, although older than Derek, seated at the bar a few seats down from him. The man was downing hard liquor like water and Derek deduced that he was clearly trying to forget something. He was hunched over the bench on the stool, his body language clearly announcing that he was not interested in company. If Derek was honest with himself, the man was quite handsome. Short dark hair, strong jawline, and he was sure the body underneath the layers of clothing and the leather jacket was just as mouthwatering. Derek's fingers flexed in anticipation of running his hands over smooth skin and hard muscle. A shiver ran down his spine. He looked away. Took a gulp of the drink in front of him. It wouldn't have any effect on him, afterall a werewolf can't get drunk, but it was something to distract himself with.

Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. The young man was stumbling off the stool to his feet. He appeared incredibly unsteady on his feet, holding the bar tightly as he swayed. Derek subconsciously lifted from his stool, ready to help the man, then settled back down when he staggered in Derek's direction. He stopped just before Derek's seat and groaned. Derek sat up straighter, alarmed. He looked like he was about to be sick. The man groaned again, then hunched over and vomited all over Derek's shoes. The pungent scent of alcohol and stomach acid assaulted Derek's sensitive nose. It almost made _him_ sick. Derek stood rooted to the spot. Wet warmth seeped through his jeans. Derek stared hard at the man before him, gazing into sharp green eyes and felt a little lost. The man slurred, "So, s'rry."

He swayed on his feet again and swiped a sleeved arm across his mouth. Derek followed the movement to perfect, full lips that you only hear about in fiction. Derek could imagine his mouth capturing those plump lips, biting down gently on he bottom lip and then soothing it with his tongue.

He shook himself out of his dream and focused on the situation. The man was severely drunk, about to fall over, in no state to drive and had just vomited all over Derek's shoes. Derek sighed. Of course this would happen on the one night he decided to go out.

"I'm Derek. Who're you?"

"D'n."

Dean. Or at least, that's what it sounded like. "So, where do you live, Dean?" Derek winced at how stalker-ish that sounded. He probably could have phrased it better.

"Now're," Dean slurred with a giggle and then a hiccup.

Derek sighed. That wasn't helpful in the least. But he couldn't just leave Dean there when he couldn't even remember where he lived. Decision made, Derek took Dean's arm in a strong grip and led him towards the exit. They had made it about halfway when Dean slumped against him. Derek stumbled a little before righting himself. He glanced at the man collapsed against his side. Then, he reached an arm under Dean's shoulders and lifted him upright. Dean was warm against his side and for a moment the aching loneliness in Derek's heart eased. It didn't last long, before he remembered that he didn't really know this man and he was only giving him a safe place to sleep off the alcohol.

Derek half carried, half dragged Dean to his car, a sleek and shiny black Chevrolet Camaro, in the dimly lit parking lot. He unlocked the car and shoved Dean into the passenger seat, awkwardly maneuvering his legs and positioning him so that he could be at least a little bit comfortable. He then walked around to the other side of the car to the driver's seat. Before he got in, he remembered the vomit covering his legs. He sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. That would be a bitch to clean up - his jeans _and_ the car.

On the drive to Derek's loft, he had to make two stops where Dean quickly shoved open the door and emptied his stomach onto the side of the road. Evidently, a severely drunk person and a moving car did not mix. Relief swamped Derek as he pulled into the driveway to his loft. Socialising was extremely draining. Derek glanced to the passenger seat where Dean was passed out, his face squashed against the window, mouth wide open to catch the flies, and unattractive snores filling the silence in the car. Derek indulged in a rare smile, softening his features. He lithely exited the car and went around to help Dean out. He gripped Dean's shoulders and hauled Dean into his arms, minding his head on the door frame. The pungent stench of alcohol and vomit combined was strong on Dean's breath. Derek ignored the way it made his eyes water and focused on carrying Dean upstairs and then laying him on Derek's bed, intending for himself to use the sofa. Derek figured that Dean would probably rather a shower first, but he wasn't going to strip someone naked without their permission. He reasoned that Dean could shower in the morning and he could always change the bedding to get rid of the vomit.

Leaving Dean to sleep, Derek entered the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind him and peeled the navy t-shirt from his torso, exposing the tattoo of three conjoining spirals on his back. A soft hitch of breath behind him startled Derek and he spun around to see Dean leaning heavily against the doorframe and gazing intently at Derek's chest.

"Shit! I thought you were asleep."

"Huh?" Dean blinked owlishly at Derek. "Oh. Was 'sleep."

Derek shifted uneasily on his feet. "I was going to take a shower, but you can take one first."

Dean hesitated, then stepped forward and touched his fingers to the three inch puckered scar over Derek's stomach. He gently traced it, his fingers feather-light, Derek's muscles quivering beneath his touch. Dean's gentle touch physically pained him and he squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of emotions, placing his hand over Dean's stilling his movements.

"Please," Derek whispered.

Dean shook his head and stumbled back a step. "S'rry."

Words caught in the back of Derek's throat, to tell Dean not to go, to stay close to him, to touch him again. But they wouldn't come, so he turned his back and finished undressing. Then, he got in the shower and turned the heat up to scorching, feeling the scalding water beating his skin. Burning away the feel of Dean's touch on his skin. Derek stayed in the shower until the hot water ran cold and instead of scorching heat pounding his skin, it was icy cold water that sent pinpricks of needles into his flesh and made him shiver and his teeth chatter. Only then did he venture from the shower to find that two and a half hours had passed and a fog of exhaustion clouded his mind as he made his way to his bedroom. He found Dean passed out on his bed and collapsed next to him, allowing sleep to claim him.

Derek woke in the late morning with the sun streaming in his window. He rolled over and noticed the other side of the bed empty with an imprint of a body that had spent the night lying next to him. Derek struggled to recall the events of the previous night until he recognised the smell of coffee coming from his kitchen. Right. Dean.

Derek stood and staggered into the kitchen, wearing only his boxers, to find Dean sitting at the table with a coffee mug in front of him and his head in his hands. He didn't quite know what to do. He wasn't good at 'morning afters', if you could even call it a morning after if you only slept in the same bed. Which - shit - he was supposed to sleep on the sofa.

Taking a deep breath, he broke the silence, "So, uh - how's your head?"

Dean startled, nearly knocking his coffee over. He jerked his head up to meet Derek's eyes.

"Fine, I guess. You don't have any painkillers?"

"Don't need them."

Another tense silence stretched between them.

"I'll make you breakfast. How do you like cereal? Or I could make some eggs." Derek suggested.

"Something greasy would be great."

Derek shrugged and placed several pieces of toast into the toaster. He took out a fry pan and some oil and fried the eggs and bacon strips. Setting down two plates on the counter, Derek motioned to Dean to help himself. Derek piled his plate high with toast, eggs and bacon, oblivious to the way that Dean gaped at him. Derek sat in the chair across from Dean at the table.

"That's a lot of food," Dean commented.

Derek paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and glanced from his plate to Dean's. "Is it?"

They ate in silence after that.

After breakfast, Dean stood and collected their plates, taking them to the sink. He gave them a wash and dried them. Derek stayed seated at the table and watched Dean moving around in his kitchen as if he belonged there. He felt a strange pang in his chest. What he wouldn't give to have someone like that to come home to. Derek startled at the thought. Where did that come from? He was completely fine on his own. He mostly didn't mind the loneliness, in fact he mostly enjoyed it. He didn't need anyone but himself.

Lost in thought, Derek didn't notice Dean had finished clearing up in the kitchen and had stopped in front of Derek. He jumped when Dean said, "Well, I should get going or Sammy's going to have a fit."

"Sammy?" Derek questioned, feeling strangely jealous at the thought of this man having a lover.

"Yeah. My brother."

Derek relaxed a fraction in relief. Sammy was Dean's brother, not his lover. He mentally shook his head. Why should he care in the first place?

"Okay. Can I drop you off anywhere?"

"No. I'll be fine."

"Oh." Derek said, slightly disappointed that he wouldn't be sharing Dean's company much longer.

Derek stuck out his hand for Dean to shake it. "I'll see you around?"

Dean stared at his hand for a second before looking up at Derek again. Derek found himself mesmerised by Dean's eyes again.

"Yeah," Dean slipped his hand in Derek's.

Then Derek felt the sharp sizzling of his skin. His eyes glowed blue and he could feel his teeth elongating as he growled. Dean stumbled back, releasing his grip on Derek's hand as if he himself had been burned. Derek glanced at Dean's right hand, noticing the silver ring.

"You're a werewolf?" Dean said incredulously. "What were you going to do, take me home and eat me?"

Derek tried not to let on how hurt he was that Dean would think that. He wasn't sure why he felt so hurt by those words coming from Dean's mouth. He couldn't help the betrayal he felt at the man he had developed an interest in being a hunter. Just like Kate had been. Kate had betrayed him too.

"You're a hunter?" Derek hissed.

"Like you didn't know that before you took me to your lair." Dean scoffed.

Derek stumbled back several steps, unable to believe that this was happening again. He couldn't let this man hurt him or his family and friends like he had before.

"No. Just. Just get out." Derek shouted.

"I don't think so, _Wolfie_. You're a monster and I'm going to have to gank you."

"I haven't killed anyone, though!" Derek said, panicked. _That's not true and you know it._ If he attacked to defend himself, then Dean and probably his brother Sammy too, could justify killing him and then he would be protecting no one.

"Get out of my house!" Derek roared, turning his fear into anger. Hoping that Dean would be smart enough not to take on a werewolf by himself, unarmed, and at least find his brother first. Maybe that would give him time to warn Scott's pack and escape himself.

Dean seemed to realise that he was no match for a werewolf alone, especially unarmed. He gave Derek one last scalding glare and slammed the front door shut behind him.

Derek collapsed to his knees, tugging hard on his hair. His heart ached and he clawed at his chest with one hand in an attempt to ease the pain. How could something that felt so right, turn out to be so wrong?

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and I would very much appreciate feedback and comments. Also, I have a question - should I leave the story there, as a one shot, or should I continue the story?**

 **justanotherwhitegirl xx**

 **P.S. I suck at creative titles for my stories, so if you have any better ideas for the title and you don't mind if I use it, please share!**


End file.
